


pretty boy

by red__moon



Series: brief inquiries. [4]
Category: The 1975 (Band)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26501953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red__moon/pseuds/red__moon
Summary: She really wants to dislike Matty. But she notices everything about him, and she likes what she notices. All the little moments they spend together - away from the dying stages of her relationship with her boyfriend - add up to one cold, cosy evening between Christmas and New Year, where they will finally have the conversation they needed to have for a long time.We talked about poetry, and its accessibility. We talked about ambient music and our favourite shows, improvisation, spontaneity, chaos and order in our respective art forms. I was surprised at how easy it was; he knew what he thought, most of the time, about these topics, but simultaneously admitted to not knowing enough, expressing a curiosity in the things I said that he hadn't known already. His face lit up and he gestured erratically with his hands to support his thoughts, which was entertaining in and of itself.And then I remembered I was standing in the corner of a cramped patio somewhere in the backstreets of Hoxton, the tips of my fingers growing numb from the cold whilst my boyfriend, with whom I hadn't managed to engage in any conversation remotely like this before, picked up his class As on the kerb.
Relationships: Matthew Healy/Original Female Character(s)
Series: brief inquiries. [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1925500
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	pretty boy

He spends twenty minutes perusing my bookshelves, asking me questions about whether each title is a result of personal interest or just another tome I've accumulated. He makes small noises of enthusiasm when he finds one he's also read. The pages make a pleasant flutter as he thumbs them, the dry crackle of paper warming the air.

I am acutely aware of the state of my living room, the yellow glow of the lamp in the corner and the occasional draught through the open window, which is ajar so that we can smoke. It's the strange hinterland days between Christmas and New Year. Limp paper chains adorn the ceiling and the real tree I insisted on picking up has been dropping needles, in a quiet sort of rebellion at being wrenched from its roots and humiliated with baubles.

'Matty,' I ask quietly. 'Do you think I did the wrong thing this evening?'

He puts down the copy of 'Ulysses' he's holding and stares at me with dark, shining eyes. 'I don't, no.'

I roll the stem of my wine glass between my thumb and forefinger. 'What am I going to do?'

'I really don't know.' He chews his lip pensively. 'Phone around, call in a favour?'

The pile of books beside him has grown, like a game of Jenga; I extract 'The Outsider' from underneath a rhyming dictionary. 'It doesn't feel good yet, but I know it will. This arrangement, it was just...'

'Absurd.' The corners of Matty's mouth twitch upwards into a wry smile. It has the effect of conveying a silent understanding, the way one might smile if they had a secret. Maybe we did.

I look doubtfully down at the book in my hand. 'I can't even read this. It's the French edition.'

A couple of foxes fight loudly in the street outside, their screeches echoing through the open window. I light the joint and peer out, trying to spot them, but they are gone in a flash, off to skirmish in another garden down the road. The smoke irritates my throat, though I manage not to cough.

Matty touches my elbow, and I pass it to him. He's moved to stand beside me now at the open window, and I watch him askance as he smokes, his face gently illuminated by the sliver of the moon.

I wonder what thoughts might be running through his head, and suddenly feel quite maddened that I can't know. And yet I know him well enough to know he is probably picking apart whatever he's been writing today, and replaying scenes from the party this evening that he wishes had gone differently. He is confident, but not above a bit of insecurity; no ego goes unchecked, not even either of ours. What frustrates me really is that no amount of well-judged conjecture will include what I want it to.

_Ben dragged the guy over, spilling both of their drinks, but he didn't seem to mind. He swayed a little on the spot as he stood in front of me, his shirt hanging oddly on his shoulders from Ben's grip._

_'I can't believe you guys haven't met yet, fucking hell. We must have been at the same parties for months!'_

_I observed him coolly for a moment. 'Oh no, I think your face is familiar.' This was not a lie, but in fact an understatement. He was loud, this one, always playing the fool, though not necessarily from a desire for attention. He could be standing in the corner of someone's back garden with a spliff in his hand, and his boyish peal of laughter would cut right through the clamour. I'd overheard him in conversation with girls - very smooth, often pretentious and asking impossible questions that would get them flustered and stumbling over their words. And then he would be all sweetness and light, sending himself up as they doted on him, begging to let him 'sleep on their sofa'. I never saw him with the same girl twice._

_'It is?' He asked, feigning surprise. 'Yeah, I think I recognise you.' Wiping his hand on his jeans from the spilled drink, his expression was earnest, his smile glowing. I wanted to be suspicious, but now in the line of fire of his charm, I was starting to wonder if he didn't put it on at all. He was just the lamp, and we were helpless moths, me and all the other girls._

Just as he touches my elbow, I nudge his again, using my knuckle to gently push against his upper arm. He feels warm, despite the biting air. He's smoked deeply and quickly, the joint now half the size it was when I passed it over, and even as he tells me to finish it off, he stays at the window with me, rather than retreating closer to the radiator and the soft cushions of my sofa.

'You've got goosebumps.' He playfully trails a finger from my wrist up my forearm. I start to wonder if he is slightly less sober than I initially judged.

'And you're like a human inferno,' I say. 'Bloody hell.'

This makes him laugh, which makes _me_ realise it's what I've been looking to hear all night - that surge of amusement. It reminds me of a time that seems deceptively simpler and more innocent, though my rose-tinted memory is riddled with inaccuracies. Funny how I used to hear that laugh and shudder. Why it would grate at me, and what it signified then.

Matty pulls back from the window finally, leaving me to the final few drags. He slumps into my armchair, draping himself languidly over the deflated cushions like a young Adonis. Oddly, he's never self-conscious when you suspect him of it, and yet painfully so when you would never guess. This is one of those times, where I wonder if his indolence is contrived, but in all likelihood he naturally moves like that, teasing a knot out of his hair and gazing into the middle distance. Galaxie 500 are spinning on my stereo, and he's probably absorbed in their lumbering rhythm section, trying to work out how much he can rip off for himself.

'I'm glad you're here. I thought you might have stayed to talk to that girl... what was her name?'

'Doesn't matter.' His gaze is still distant, though his words are direct. 'She wasn't interesting.'

'You've forgotten, haven't you?' This makes him look, finally. I can feel the corners of my mouth twitching upwards, and I'm trying not to laugh but it's just so _like_ him.

'No.' He pauses. 'Vic. Something like that.'

'Something,' I repeat.

'Well, you were in your hour of need, weren't you?'

'Was I? I didn't cry.'

'No, you don't usually. But your face is like an open book.'

I turn the open book away, because he does read it well. I leave the room for a moment, to retrieve the remaining half bottle of wine from the fridge, and top up our glasses. The lip of the bottle touches the glass, and some of it runs down to the counter; I run my finger along the bottom and lick it, to try and lessen the chance of causing dark rings on the light wood. Matty gulps his down. He'll get sleepy soon, probably.

'It never stopped you before.' I stand behind the chair, so he can't look at me, but he twists and locks eyes anyway.

'What never stopped me?'

'A girl not being interesting.'

'Ha.' He laughs drily. 'My criteria aren't consistent I guess. I didn't feel very sociable, anyway.'

'Really? You're quite smooth when you try.'

'Am I?' He seems surprised at this, as if he considers it inconceivable.

'You're not aware of it? Don't you notice the way they gravitate towards you?'

'People gravitate towards you.' A barefaced lie.

'No, they don't. I actively discourage it.' I'm good at a _don't-even-think-about-it_ face.

'Sometimes that creates more of a pull. You want to attract curious people, right? People who aren't curious just move through the simplest, most tedious version of their lives.' He has the grace to look nervous before his next sentence. 'A bit like Ben.'

'Why were you friends with him then?' I shoot back.

'Me? I just wanted to shake him off the whole time.'

'Yeah, and why didn't you?'

'Because you two were a package deal.' _Gulp._ His glass is empty again. 'And I didn't mind keeping a boring friend to retain a great one.' An elegant save, even I have to admit. A glowing sensation radiates down the back of my neck.

'Have some of my wine. I can't finish it.'

Matty tries to protest half-heartedly, but I slop the contents of my glass into his too quickly for him to pull it away. The A-side of the record has stopped, the hiss of fluff caught on the needle creating a glitchy ambience in my living room.

'Well, we've both shaken him off now, haven't we?'

_It was loud. The living room held about twice the number of people it should, legally; the ceiling was cracked and peeling from the damp, so all safety concerns went out the window with the last professional tenants. Now the house was occupied by a couple of amateur filmmakers, friends of Ben's. The girl I talked to seemed sweet, but she'd clearly had twice as much to drink as I had, and I couldn't be sure that everything I said was really sinking in. In one ear, out the other - like most conversations at parties like this._

_It wasn't really a party, in the traditional sense. Just an invite that turned into five more out of courtesy, until thirty people worked out there was only one decent place left to be at two in the morning. Beside me on the sofa, a group of three girls bitched about one of their exes, and lounging around the floor were four guys having an argument with one girl about whether Morrissey's legacy was tarnished. In an armchair in the corner, a girl sat on a guy's lap, leaning over him, giggling._

_'Alright love?' Ben leaned over, tapping his can of beer next to mine. The drunk girl didn't seem to mind being interrupted. She smiled up at him with a slightly glazed look in her eyes. 'I'll be out the front if you want me. Nat placed an order...' he trailed off, but I caught his meaning._

_'Yeah. No worries.' I kissed him lightly on the cheek and watched him go._

_'You're seeing Ben G?' The girl asked, interested once she'd cottoned on. She said his name the way he liked it and the way I refused, even in the third person and when he wasn't around. Yes, my boyfriend is Ben Griffith, no, he won't DJ your birthday party._

_'Uh huh.' I nodded, flicking at my lighter. 'Want a smoke?'_

_She shook her head; I pretended to be profoundly interested in the argument on the floor, and her interest waned again. Off into the kitchen she went, just as a fresh bottle of tequila was opened with a squeaky, cracking sound._

_I needed to bum a cigarette from someone. Getting to my feet, I was about to try to get the attention of one of the Morrissey fanboys when the girl in the armchair sat up. I locked eyes with Matty, sitting spread-eagled in the chair and looking rather pleased with himself, like the cat who'd got the cream. He'd seen me rolling the lighter about in my hand; as the girl got up to go, trailing her fingers along his forearm, he cast a cursory glance at her and pulled a pouch of tobacco from beside his leg._

_'Want to roll one? Or shall I?'_

_I pause in my tracks. 'Yes. If you don't mind.'_

_'Wouldn't have offered if I did.' He grinned, turning to the coffee table and laying a rizla flat on its surface._

_'Thanks.' The last thing I wanted now was to silently watch him roll the cigarette and go back to whatever he was doing. She'd be back soon, probably just on a toilet trip or something. Funny - he struck me as the kind of guy who'd try for a quickie in the bathroom. I wanted to dislike him. 'Do you know the hosts?'_

_'Nope... spoke to one of them after the gig for a bit. Going to their afterparty seemed easier than throwing our own, you know? Less messy.' Matty shrugged, pursing his lips around the filter, smoothly rolled the tobacco into place. I watched him push it in and deftly fold down the thin edges of paper, producing a slightly wonky but perfectly respectable cigarette. He presented it to me with a flourish. 'It's not much, but it's honest work.'_

_I raised my brow in amusement. 'Thank you.' He held a lighter out too, and I bent down as the flame crackled to life, so that he could light it for me. Just a little flirtatious. Not very good, is it, I thought to myself reluctantly. He was a mate of Ben's, for god's sake. Though it was unclear how close. Matty wouldn't rat me out, I decided. In fact, the glint in his eye told me he quite enjoyed it. It was so hard to dislike him._

_I turned my head to exhale, meeting his gaze again. He had a way of looking that implied you were in on a secret. The sort of non-verbal, glancing communication that happens between friends with real, long-term history - that's what he was giving, as he cocked his head to one side and smirked. As if to say_ I know. Isn't this funny?

_'I'm going to get some fresh air.'_

_'I'll come with you.' This surprised me. I thought the girl would be back for him._

_'You sure?'_

_'Yeah. I feel bad smoking in here.' There was a small patio out the back, jam-packed with people. I snuck into a corner and Matty stood close by me, leaning against the fence and rolling his own cigarette. 'You're a writer, right?'_

_'Is that what I called it earlier?' I grimaced. 'I am. Sort of. Still trying to find an agent.'_

_'You can't just publish something yourself, I guess, unlike music.'_

_'Let's put it this way: if I walked into Foyles with a self-printed collection of short stories, I'd be laughed out the door.' I ashed my cigarette nonchalantly, as if to punctuate my point._

_'Do you have a manuscript, at least?'_

_'Tonnes. Why? Want to read one?'_

_'I'd like to, yeah.'_

_'You don't even know what I write about.'_

_'Probably a good thing. No preconceptions, right?'_

_'Right.' I narrowed my eyes, but there wasn't anything to be suspicious of. I suddenly envisaged what it would be like to step one foot closer, to feel his breath on my cheek. If Ben saw us... what would he do? Or say? It was a ridiculous idea; I wouldn't entertain it. But my brain wanted to play that little movie in my head, just to see what would happen. Besides, Matty wasn't hitting on me, based on his track record. There were no impossible questions this time, no pretentious aphorisms. Or perhaps I was just good at answering to the impossible._

_We talked about poetry, and its accessibility. We talked about ambient music and our favourite shows, improvisation, spontaneity, chaos and order in our respective art forms. I was surprised at how easy it was; he knew what he thought, most of the time, about these topics, but simultaneously admitted to not knowing enough, expressing a curiosity in the things I said that he hadn't known already. His face lit up and he gestured erratically with his hands to support his thoughts, which was entertaining in and of itself._

_And then I remembered I was standing in the corner of a cramped patio somewhere in the backstreets of Hoxton, the tips of my fingers growing numb from the cold whilst my boyfriend, with whom I hadn't managed to engage in any conversation remotely like this before, picked up his class As on the kerb._

I sit cross-legged on the carpet in front of him, my cardigan pooled around my elbows. The central heating has become almost too effective by now, and the wine is going to my head.

'Took you long enough. How long have you two been split now? Two months?'

'Three.'

'Fuck me... that's too long to still be holed up here.'

' _You_ try finding a new place in Hackney this time of year.' I bristled slightly. 'The lease is up next month. I can pay the last month's rent now.'

'Is that why you picked tonight?' He surveys me from behind the rim of the wine glass.

'Maybe. But I don't think I'm that calculated. It was... convenient.'

'Ha!' He laughs at this, tossing his head back onto the winged back of the armchair - a sharp, ringing peal of a laugh. 'Yeah, it was, I guess.'

_I guess._ And I can only guess what he means. The beat in my chest quickens. The words hang in the air. It's almost unbearable.

'Oh, shit. Look!' Matty leans forwards suddenly, perched on the very edge of the chair, flinging an arm out. 'It's fucking snowing.'

He's right; the sky isn't an inky black any more, but a dark orange, punctuated by flutters of white caught by the streetlight. 'It won't settle. It never does in London.'

'I know it wasn't just the lease that stopped you.' His words come out of nowhere, and my gaze snaps back to meet his. He looks at me searchingly. 'Why didn't you kick Ben out until tonight?'

'He's not even gone yet, his stuff's still here,' I mumble.

'You're deflecting.'

'Well, I'm not exactly forthright, am I? You can just come out and say what you feel, consequences be damned.'

'You could. You _did,_ tonight.'

'Yes, when pressed.' I cast my mind back; Ben butting in on my conversation, Ben taking offence to my glare, Ben openly putting me down until I dragged him into the next room to say in no uncertain terms that I was sick to death of him. 'What goes through your head, when you pick up a girl the way you do?'

'The way I do? Like how?'

'Like...' _Shit, maybe this is invasive. How to put it delicately?_ 'They're so enthusiastically _into_ you. And you take them home every time.'

'How do you know I do?' He's teasing now, surely.

'Don't you? What else do you do, palm-reading?'

'If they want.'

'Now _you're_ deflecting.'

'Alright. I am. It's a good escape, I guess. Sex is a... a passing pleasure.'

'Do you truly believe that?'

'Yes. But I'm sure I'll be proven wrong one day.' He shrugs, taking another sip of wine.

'Sorry,' I shake my head. 'It's not my business.'

'It's not _not_ your business. It's not terribly private or public. You're close to me so you notice these things, it makes sense.'

'You were pretty open about breaking up with Louise.'

'Not to everyone. I mean, we had a decent time. But it had to end eventually.'

'Eventually? What, you always knew?'

'We both did. It was fairly mutual.' He sinks further into the armchair. _That's not_ _how_ _I remember it_ , I think.

I shuffle on my knees towards the pile of records beside the television cabinet. 'Any requests?'

'You've got _Disintegration_ , right? Pop that on. I'm jealous, but it doesn't stop me wanting to hear it.'

'It kind of fits the ambience.' I gesture towards the strangely orange sky.

'Fuck, my back... I need to be horizontal.' Matty pushed himself off the armchair, and sank to the floor beside me. 'Lie back. Let's just listen, soak it up.'

We'd both absorbed a lot of wine as well; the music was the last straw. The last thing I remembered hearing was the close of 'Pictures of You'.

_It was unbearably hot, and I made the poor decision of wearing a black dress, because it was new and I had resolved to put some effort in that day. I neglected to check the forecast, and now I was suffering for it._

_Ben drained his pint and dropped the glass clumsily on the cardboard coaster. 'Be right back. Just going for a piss.' He hopped down from the bar stool and walked back inside; Matty watched him go, squinting slightly._

_'Wish I'd brought sunglasses now, I can feel a headache coming on.' He looked me full in the face. He sat opposite, and Ben had been alongside me, so he'd twisted slightly in his seat to address both of us. But now he leaned forward across the bar table, chin in hand, his expression loaded with something I interpreted as relief._

_Matty was beginning to confuse me. He communicated all manner of fond sentiments without saying anything outright or trying anything on. He seemed to be quite content to tag along, and if he'd been a different friend, and Ben had been a different boyfriend, I might have taken issue with it, but they weren't, so I didn't. In fact, it was worse when Ben and I were left alone; the buffer that Matty provided was whipped away, and I had to face the uncomfortable reality that I had committed myself to someone I didn't really understand._

_'How have you been?' I asked tentatively. He would give a different answer than when in Ben's presence._

_'Alright, really,' he said. 'Lou's texted me a few times. I've been civil.' Louise was a tenacious girl. I rather admired that in her._

_'Should I take her for a drink? Smooth things over? I can play the diplomat if it makes things easier when you play tomorrow.'_

_'I'm hoping she won't show up at all. I can't think what good it would do.' Matty began to shred the cardboard coaster methodically._

_'I think you're well rid of her, mate.' Ben caught the last snippet of conversation as he settled back into his seat. 'You never liked her, did you K?'_

_I cast a pained glance in Matty's direction. 'It wasn't really a matter of liking or disliking. We're quite... different.'_

_They were only together for four months, but it seemed like more than a flash in the pan. They went on holiday together. They turned down plans with other friends to spend time with each other. These were things Ben and I rarely did - and yet it was over. Matty was decisive. I admired that in him._

_'You are, yes.' He spoke as if absent-minded, distracted by the growing pile of soggy cardboard on the table. He flicked it aside blithely._

_'You're laid back, love,' Ben claps a hand on my shoulder, leaning in to kiss my cheek. 'No stress. That's why I love you.' I couldn't look at Matty now, instead smiling weakly towards the floor. The sun had gone in behind some clouds, but I fumbled for my sunglasses, wanting to obscure my expression from view. Matty pulled a cigarette from the pocket of his jacket, and lit up_

The carpet is soft on my feet, but on the back of my neck, it's less so. The scratchy wool irritates my neck, and I lift my head groggily. The sun is starting to rise, its weak light filtering through the window. It's quiet outside - eerily quiet, no distant rumble of traffic. Someone laughs, a bit like a child playing. _The snow._

I scramble to my feet and back to the window. A thick white blanket covers the tops of cars, the wall outside, even most of the road. A grubby van makes its way along the street, slowly and with some difficulty; the slush beneath the tires isn't fluid enough for easy driving. Birds can easily be spotted, dark fluttering specks against their newly white perches.

My instinct is to wake Matty and tell him, but there's no need - he gazes at me bleary-eyed, propped up onto his elbows.

'Shit. Is it light outside?'

'Yes. Come and see.'

'I've had three hours, four at most... god, my head is banging.'

'Come on, it's worth it. I'll get you a paracetamol in a minute.'

Matty pulls back the curtain all the way, letting all the light stream in. 'Ah! That's lovely.' His eyes are wide with delight. 'Fuck, it's times like these I wish I was a kid again.'

As I prise the window open to feel the crisp air, he sticks a finger out onto the outer windowsill, drawing a line in the downy flakes that have settled there. He puts his finger in his mouth. 'Yep. Definitely snow.'

I pinch some of it between my fingers and watch it melt and pool in my palm. A shiver goes up my neck and across my shoulders, and I turn to face him, leaning against the window ledge. 'How long do you think it'll last?'

'Two days, maybe three,' he says with a shrug.

'Are you hungry?'

'Not yet.' He pauses. 'Do you think the cafe down the road will be open today?'

'Only one way to find out... why, you want breakfast?'

'Brunch. Whatever.' He stretches his arm behind his back, pulling his elbow back, his gaze fixed on mine the whole time. _That would be very nice_ , my internal monologue crows. He continues. 'I don't think we could have done this before you kicked him out.'

'Done what?'

'Hanging out like this.' Matty sounds jittery suddenly, uncharacteristically so. He's always the epitome of self-assurance. The silence that follows isn't awkward, it's an unspoken acknowledgement that we agree on his statement. Affection swells in my chest, and for some reason I want an excuse to touch him, and express it. But when I visualise the action, it becomes more than that - imaginary me turns it into a kiss, breathing him in, and then in a flash, his hands on me, clothed then unclothed.

My poker face is tested to the limit, until I come down to earth with a thud. He still stands in front of me, his expression unreadable, playing with the lighter in his hands and glancing out of the window to watch each passer-by navigate the icy pavement. I reach out and run my finger along his arm, mirroring the way he did to me hours before. 'Goosebumps.'

'Yeah.' He watches my hand withdraw. We're both gauging the air between us, calculating the risk. The space decreases and, I surmise, it is safe.

Matty is close enough now that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek, and it's him that leans forward at last, bringing his lips to mine. It's clear in an instant that no amount of imagined trysts could have lived up to the real thing, and it isn't anything to do with the clichéd 'spark', it's not magical. It's better, because it's him, warm and real.

Kissing him is like finally opening the box of chocolates you've been looking forward to all day, a treat that I want to savour. Not that I get to pause and savour it for long; he hums slightly and pulls away quickly, to evaluate my reaction.

'Did you want that?'

'Yes,' I nod keenly. 'Do it again.'

This time he cups my face in his hands, our tongues touching at the same time - we have the same idea, the same thrill at what we are doing. His mouth is warm and pliant, and although I feel a momentary darkness at the thought of the girls I used to watch him go home with, it's easily dismissed in a heartbeat. After all, it's me he's kissing now, and it didn't take any of the usual charms he puts on. We've charmed each other over many days and weeks and months, and -

'I wanted this for ages. Could you tell?' His voice is low, conspiratorial, and it interrupts my galloping train of thought.

I stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded. 'No, I... never.'

'Thank god.' He starts to kiss me again, and I lay a hand on his shoulder, to make him pause again.

'We have so much time. You don't need to rush.' It's starting to sink in now, that I am able to say these words, and under these circumstances. I feel a little dizzy, and bury my face in his neck. Quite suddenly, I want to be as close to him as humanly possible, and it still feels like he might disappear in a puff of smoke, as if it's all been a cruel hallucination. Even if it is, I know I'd make this happen again. Now that I've touched him like this, I've opened pandora's box. There's no going back.

There's a knock at the door, in a wobbling rhythm. It sounds like whoever is there is uncertain about knocking, but it's too late now anyhow. Matty and I glance towards it, and I squeeze his arm before going to peer through the spyhole, my hand hovering over the door chain.

It's Ben, twiddling his thumbs and looking worse for wear. I almost laugh out loud, but instead motion to Matty to hide, pointing frantically towards my room. He throws his hands up in the air at the absurdity of the situation, and dashes out of sight; I open the door and face my ex-boyfriend.

'What are you doing here?'

'This is stupid.' Ben steps inside a little way. The apartment door stays open. 'What's the point of kicking me out right after Christmas? Are you fucking heartless? Where will I go over the New Year?'

'Go to your mum's. I don't care.' Even I'm impressed at my assertive directness. 'We should have done this two months ago, I don't want to leave it any later.' It's easier to speak to him like this now than it was the previous night, when I lost my temper. His face is a picture, because he knows I'm right. His name isn't on the lease, he has no right to my home - hasn't had one for a long time. 'Look, this isn't a good time actually.' I let my glance slip towards my bedroom door, deciding in a split second that letting him realise I had company might drive him out sooner.

_'Really_? Jesus, you're a cold bitch.' Ben says the words with disgust, but his facial expression is more pathetic than anything else. 'Who is it?'

'Nobody you know.' _A white lie_. Ben hardly knows Matty at all, although he likes to think he's best mates with everyone who gives him the time of day. I raise my eyebrows at him, trying to muster as much disdain onto my face as I can.

'You know where I ended up last night? I sat in the fucking pub until it closed, trying to figure out where I was going to go, who's sofa I might crash on. I'm _not_ going to my mum's. A twenty six year old man, professional DJ, working out of his childhood bedroom? You're having a laugh.'

I shrug. 'Not my fault you made the assumption you wouldn't get kicked out after cheating on your girlfriend.'

Ben ignores this, and ploughs on, punctuating his words with a slap to the kitchen counter. 'And then the pub closed, and my mates came and found me, and they think you're a real psycho to do this, you know? I don't even have enough buy pints, Matty ended up paying my tab, he thinks you're being really unreasonable -'

A thump comes from the direction of my room, and a sound like someone spluttering, hiding a laugh. Ben frowns at me, and I clear my throat. 'I'm not really interested, you know? Come back on Friday. Go to your dad's if you're so bothered about laundry. As far as I recall, he doesn't do his either.'

I shoo him out; as I bolt the front door behind him, my bedroom door flies open. Matty claps a hand to his mouth as we descend into fits of muffled laughter. 'Delusional! He's a grade A idiot, I swear to god!'

'Come on,' I grab the neck of his jumper, connecting our lips again, breathing into his mouth. 'I'm not feeling as patient as I was.'

'Hang on. I know, uh - I know we were talking about, you know. Other people. Late last night.'

'So?'

'So, this isn't that. I mean, you can make it whatever you want. But I'm not going to just fuck off this afternoon. Unless you want that, I don't know.' His eyes are wide. He's trying to please me. I love it.

I suppress a laugh for the second time that morning. 'Of course I don't want you to fuck off. But it's reassuring to know you don't want to either.'

'Well, you're interesting-' he kisses under my neck between words, quoting our conversation, 'you're curious - and I gravitated towards you. I think we hit the jackpot.'

'Shit. Does that make _me_ the smooth one?'

'Definitely.'

And right as he pulls my shirt over my head, I warn him - 'That whole _sex is a passing pleasure_ thing, though...'

'Bullshit. All of it, bullshit. I was trying to sound smart and impress you. I'll make this last as long as you want.'

**Author's Note:**

> This was somewhat experimental for me, switching between tenses and timeframes - feedback welcome!!


End file.
